


And What A Surprise

by Random_Nexus



Series: "New London, Luna Settlement, Terran Sector" - Sherlock BBC-based SciFi AU Fics [14]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Future, Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Established Relationship, Homosexuality, M/M, Prompt Fic, Slash, Watson's Woes, Watson's Woes July Writing Prompts 2017
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-25
Updated: 2017-06-25
Packaged: 2018-11-19 04:16:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11305485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Random_Nexus/pseuds/Random_Nexus
Summary: John's been away for three months, Sherlock's missed him far more than expected, but the surprise John brings home is, to say the least, unexpected.Written for the Prompt: "This is only a test. If this had been an actual JWP prompt, your prompt would have been: surprise." -Watson's WoesJuly Writing Prompts (Test Prompt)Warnings:Not really - Men who love men, RomCom-style silliness, References to and implications of manly scrumpings, Muse off the leash.





	And What A Surprise

**Author's Note:**

> This popped into my head after reading the prompt test post. Since the Muse was so forthcoming, I figured I'd better write the danged thing. It's set in my futuristic sci-fi AU that got a lot of use last July for the Watson's Woes July Writing Prompts, so some of you may find it familiar. Although this fic may be silly, at least it's short! \o/

“Surprise!”

The sound of that single word seemed to echo in the room long after John had practically sang it in his enthusiasm. It was certainly repeating over and over in Sherlock’s head as he stood blinking in a cross between—yes—surprise and something very like shock. No, actually, it _was_ shock.

In his head, Sherlock was speaking clearly and strongly, possibly even shouting:

_“You’re gone for nearly a quarter cycle on some ridiculous secret mission for my loathsome brother, barely manage to send any messages home, spare time for only a scant three vid calls, and went the last month without any contact **at all** until the message conveying only the time and date of your arrival. You add that I’m not to meet you at the spaceport because you have a… **surprise** … for me. So, here we are, you stand before me at last, looking tanned and lean and practically edible, except… except for what is clearly meant to be my **surprise**. What in hell were you thinking?”_

However, as sometimes happens when he’s overwhelmed, Sherlock said none of this aloud.

John’s anticipatory grin faded into a slightly worried expression. “Sherlock?”

_“I’ve been looking forward to kissing you into oblivion and then fucking you beyond that for at least a week, John; been having massive wank sessions over all the things I’m going to do to you once you’re home; to the point where I couldn’t concentrate on **The Work**. I was beginning to worry that there was something **wrong** with me, because I’ve never, **ever** been this aroused and distracted this often without direct stimulation of some kind. You’ve made me care about you… desire you… even **love** you… and this? This is what you come home to me with? What, I ask you again, were you **thinking?!** ”_

“Sherlock?” John repeated, tilting his head, beginning to look genuinely concerned. “Did I break you somehow, luv?”

“Answer me, John!” Sherlock finally spat out, pointing at John’s upper lip accusatorily, his pale face probably blotchy with rage, and blinking excessively.

“If you’d actually said anything out loud, I would have,” John said with cautious patience as he moved slowly closer to his partner.

Pointing with even more agitation, Sherlock just made a wordless grunting sound of what seemed pure outrage.

“So…” John licked his lips and smoothed the neatly trimmed moustache with his thumb and forefinger. “I take it you don’t like it?”

With a sound that was half smothered shout and half growl, Sherlock took the last long step to John, reached out and grasped a pinch of the new hair growth on the left side of John’s upper lip.

“Hey!” John protested, wincing. He brought one hand up to clutch at Sherlock’s wrist, but didn’t push or pull, only held on in warning.

“This. Comes. _Off!_ ” Sherlock snarled, low and menacing. John’s scent wafted over him as he stood there a moment, watching his lover’s eyes dilate at his own proximity—no doubt his rumbling growl of a voice adding to John’s arousal—and he felt a veritable wave, no, a _tsunami_ of lust roll up through him with devastating strength. Inhaling deeply, his voice lowering further, Sherlock added with obvious reluctant urgency, “Afterwards.”

“After—oh!” John started to ask, but broke off in understanding a moment later, grinning again despite Sherlock’s grip on his moustache. “Lead on, then. No, I meant—ow, ow, dammit, Sherlock!”

Sherlock didn’t wait for more, and ignored John’s mostly-for-show complaints as he led him to the bedroom by his upper lip and its offending growth of hair. To be fair, he didn’t pull all _that_ hard and he knew quite well that he was only taking John where they both wanted to go.

The next day cycle, though he was covered in whisker burns, love bites, enthusiastic bruises, and with a Menaru love poem scrawled on his right buttock in semi-permanent marker, John Watson’s face bore a subtly discombobulated hint of a smile all day, but was most definitely clean-shaven.


End file.
